No Reply
by espiyo
Summary: Another brief digression from the work in progress. Set after S9; the inquiry has just begun. No idea whether this will be a one off or whether it might actually go somewhere. I guess that may depend on you guys! Disclaimer - Kudos and the BBC own all.
1. Chapter 1

**Hope you enjoy!**

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All things considered, the first day hadn't gone too badly. But now he was tired and hungry and all he wanted was hot food, a hot bath, and the all too brief oblivion of sex.

As one after the other the fridge then a succession of kitchen cupboards mocked him, he hoped that at least the boiler wasn't on the blink. Shrugging off his jacket he hung it up on the back of a kitchen chair and draped his tie over it. His shoes he prised off and kicked unceremoniously under the table. By the time he reached the foot of the stairs his shirt was unbuttoned, his belt unbuckled and his socks were languishing in the drum of the washing machine.

The doorbell rang, and for once it wasn't accompanied by a barking frenzy; Scarlet was staying with Wes for the duration of the inquiry, and, by unspoken agreement, if things really went pearshaped, beyond. After a moment's hesitation he padded to the door, anticipating a charity collector, a utilities salesman, the window cleaner. Anybody, really, except Ruth. It was unclear who was more taken aback; he at the presence on his doorstep of someone who'd done her best to avoid him for days, or she at his state of undress.

'Ruth! This is a surprise.'

Her eyes widened momentarily, then dropped, trying to find somewhere safe to focus on. Seemingly even his bare feet were cause for embarrassment as for once she raised her eyes to his, a rather becoming blush staining her cheeks. 'Sorry, sorry, I've obviously come at a bad time. I just thought you might not feel like cooking after...after today.' She held up a carrier bag. 'Chinese. Perhaps you could reheat it...'

Sod it. He wasn't about to disabuse her. 'After we've worked up an appetite?'

The blush deepened. 'Um, sorry, I only got enough for one. I didn't realise you had company. I'll go. Enjoy.' She grimaced. 'I mean the food, not the...well, obviously...I'm sure you'll enjoy the...' Her hand flapped.

'The wild, passionate sex?'

'Yes, that,' she muttered. 'Anyway, I hope tomorrow's not too...I hope it goes well. As well as can be expected.' She thrust the bag at his chest and turned to go.

He sighed. 'Ruth?'

'Mmm?'

'I was about to have a bath.'

'Thanks, but I'd rather not get into a discussion about your favourite sexual positions on your doorstep.'

He laughed, and she shot him a withering glance. 'You know what I mean.'

'I was about to have a _bath_,' he repeated. 'And do you really think I have a queue of women desperate to scrub my back?'

'Well, no, of course not.'

'Oh. Thanks very much.'

'For god's sake, Harry, do you have to make this so difficult?'

'Excuse me? You're the one who's turned up on my doorstep uninvited with a rapidly congealing takeaway and assumed that you've interrupted my ravishing of some Michelle Pfeiffer lookalike!'

'Michelle Pfeiffer?'

He shrugged.

'In your dreams. Honestly, you men are so bloody predictable.'

'...and you can add insulting me to the list. Look, I think we've given the neighbours enough of a floorshow; are you coming in or not? We can split this and I'm sure I can run to a bottle of wine and cheese and crackers, or something equally exciting.'

'What about your bath?'

'Bugger my bath.'

'And the surveillance team? We're not really supposed to have any contact with you.'

'I'd say bugger them too but you'd probably take that the wrong way. So to speak.' He smothered a grin. 'Why did you come round then if you're so bothered about them?'

'I...' she lapsed into silence, fingertips birling her ring.

'Well, you're here now so you might as well come in.' He turned and headed along the hall to the kitchen, sure that she would follow. As he was putting plates under the grill to warm he heard the front door close.

'I'm in the kitchen,' he called. 'Come on through.'

Silence.

'Ruth?'

He went back out into the hall.

She was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**I always forget to apologise in advance for my potty mouth. Sorry. And apologies in advance for my potty mouth. Thank you for the reviews, looks like there's a little bit more mileage in this one, so here's a quick and brief update. Lady J, your wish is my command. ;)**

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Harry stared at the door in disbelief, then with a hissed 'Oh, bollocks to this!' he grabbed his door keys from the hall table and ran outside. Pulling the door shut behind him he stood on the top step and scanned the street. Thank god for rare-as-hen's-teeth London parking, he could just make out the top of her head as she strode towards the corner.

'Ruth!' he yelled. 'Ruth!' Forgetting his bare feet, his bare chest, he hurtled down the steps and started running after her. Unsurprisingly, passers by moved swiftly out of his way, and despite his age, his lack of fitness, his dodgy knee and his Zola Budd impersonation, the gap between them swiftly narrowed. 'Ruth, will you bloody stop!'

He was sure her pace was quickening, and he could now see her car up ahead. Momentarily distracted, he cannoned off a young man emerging from a shop. The two of them stumbled, Harry panting 'Sorry, sorry!' and as he recovered his balance and began to run again, he didn't notice the shard of glass lying on the kerb. It sliced into the ball of his foot, and with anguished yell he toppled to the ground.

Ruth, hearing the commotion, turned just in time to see Harry, his face contorted in pain, clattering off the pavement. She gazed at him in incredulity for a moment, then the awful thought struck her that he was having a heart attack, and she began to run. As she got closer she realised he was clutching his knee, and blood was oozing from his foot. And she was pretty sure that someone having a heart attack wouldn't be able to swear like that.

'Harry, what on earth are you playing at?'

'My arsing fucking knee, I've bust my arsing fucking knee, that's what I'm playing at. And my foot, shit.' He looked up at her. 'Why the hell did you run off?'

'I had some half naked, foul mouthed weirdo chasing after me,' she said drily.

'Not...funny...,' he grimaced.

The man Harry had bumped into waved his iPhone. 'Should I call an ambulance?'

'Hang on.' Ruth knelt down beside Harry and nudging his hand out of the way felt around his kneecap. Harry's head lolled back, his eyes wide, his forehead wreathed in perspiration, as he silently mouthed every expletive he could think of. Examination completed, Ruth reached for his now rather grubby, bloodied foot. The piece of glass lay beside his thigh, and she gingerly picked it up and dropped it in the gutter. Cupping his heel she inspected the wound. 'I don't think there's any glass left in it and I don't think it's deep enough to need stitches...if they can even stitch there...No,' she pronounced, finally. 'I just need to get him home and cleaned up. The knee, I don't think the patella's fractured or dislocated; it's just taken a bit of a dunt. It'll be fine.' Ignoring Harry's aggrieved protests and the aspersions he was casting on her diagnostic skills, she looked up at the young man. 'Can you help me...?'

'Joel.'

'Joel. Can you help me get him home, Joel? It's just a few doors down.'

'I am here, you know,' Harry snapped.

'Piggy back?' suggested Joel.

'Oh, for the love of god,' said Harry.

'I just need to get something to bandage his foot with, so he doesn't bleed all over you.' She stood up. 'I'll try the shop.'

But an elderly woman was one step ahead of her, emerging from the butcher's with a small green box. 'Here you go, love.'

'Oh, thanks.' Deftly she cleaned the wound and patched Harry up. 'You do have a kit in the house, don't you?' she asked.

He nodded. 'When you've been shot as often as I have...' The onlookers palpably recoiled. 'Joke,' he added wearily.

Somehow Ruth, Joel and and one of the onlookers got Harry upright and up onto Joel's broad back. Harry wasn't sure which was worse, the searing pain that shot through his leg with every step, or the utterly undignified procession through his own neighbourhood back to the house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the lovely reviews! I'm sticking with the slightly shorter chapters, so not much happens in this one and it is a bit more angsty, but at least Harry has Ruth's undivided attention...**

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Harry safely deposited on the sofa, the oven switched off and the takeaway binned, Ruth was rooting through his bathroom in search of the first aid box. As single blokes' bathrooms went, it was really rather nice. The colour scheme was pale blue and cream, and the room was dominated by a huge freestanding bath in the middle in front of the window. The top window was clear glass, and Ruth thought enviously of Harry luxuriating in a bubble bath, watching wispy white clouds drifting across the summer sky. Harry in a bubble bath...she shook her head as if this would physically shatter the image that had sneaked into her consciousness, and returned to the task at hand. In the cabinet under the basin she found the first aid box in amongst an array of cleaning supplies, an antiseptic spray, and a box of Dead Sea Salts. Retrieving the spray and the first aid box, and grabbing a flannel and a hand towel from the radiator rail, she trotted back downstairs.

Harry was sliding his mobile back into his trouser pocket. 'Just phoned to get a takeaway delivered,' he explained. 'Enough for two this time. Thought it was the least I could do.'

Ruth had forgotten she hadn't eaten, and only now did she realise how hungry she was. She nodded. She realised Harry was looking at her, and busied herself investigating the contents of the first aid box.

'Ruth?'

'Mm? There's only paracetamol here...'

'I've got Solpadol and industrial strength ibuprofen in the bedside table...no, wait...' his outstretched hand closed around her arm.

'And ice, I need ice. Or do you have one of those gel pack things?'

'Forget about that. Why did you leave?'

'Water. Forgot the hot water.'

'Wh...?' Harry groaned as she disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a bowl which she handed to him. 'Hold this.'

'Talk to me, Ruth. Why did you leave?'

Frowning, she sat on the sofa and lifted his foot onto her lap.

'Did I say something to upset you?'

She began unravelling the makeshift bandage. 'Harry, just...'

'Harry just what? Look, I seem to spend half my life upsetting you and for the most part I have no idea what I've done wrong.'

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. 'Really?'

'Really! Okay, I can understand why you're upset about what happened to George...'

'_Upset_?'

'And a funeral isn't really up there with Paris or Venice in terms of romantic locations...'

'Not quite...'

'But I couldn't tell you about Albany. The number of people who knew that Albany was a fake I could count on the fingers of one hand. Even Towers didn't bloody know.'

'You let me think that you'd given away a state secret that could kill millions of people purely because you loved me.' Leaving the blood-soaked melolin pad in place, she spread the towel over her lap, then soaking the flannel in the bowl of water began washing his foot.

'We were in the middle of an operation, we were still looking for Lucas. I couldn't exactly sit you down over a cup of tea and a cucumber sandwich to explain the whys and wherefores.'

'Don't patronise me, Harry.'

'I'm not... Ruth, I went through hell trying to find you, knowing all the while that your life was at risk because of how I feel about you, and then you turned round and told me that I should have left you to bloody die...' he paused, distressed. 'Believe me, that Albany was a fake was not uppermost in my mind at that point in time. Ow...'

'Sorry. Antiseptic spray now. This might sting a bit.'

Harry lapsed into silence as, melolin pad removed, Ruth washed out the wound. He was all too aware that she still had not answered his question. He was, however, more aware that the pain in his knee was becoming increasingly unbearable. As she dried his other foot and started applying the skin closures he shifted his leg slightly in the hope that a different position might be more comfortable. He yelped. 'Oh fu...Bad idea, bad idea. Look, can you go and get me those painkillers, please? And a large malt. Sideboard.' He beckoned towards the other side of the room.

Ruth attached the last strip. 'Okay, but don't put your foot down yet. I need to put a pad on top of this. Maybe a bandage to stop it coming off...'

'Ruth! Pills!'

'Okay, okay, I'm going!'

Unsurprisingly for someone who had been in the army, Harry's bedroom was immaculate. Ruth winced as she wondered what he'd make of her more...homely... bedroom with the throws and the cushions and the piles of books and the clothes hanging on the outside of the wardrobe. Harry's bedroom was painted in the same rather uninspiring shade of green as his living room, and what she suspected was a very expensive Persian rug lay across the oatmeal carpet. The walls were bare, but for a couple of black and white prints; an Ansel Adams landscape above the chest of drawers, and above the bed one of a tiny baby sleeping peacefully on a man's bare chest. _Strange choice_, she thought. _Unless..._

The bedside table nearest her was empty. Moving around the bed she tried the other one. Two paperbacks, Mauriac's _Le Noeud de Vip__è__res,_ and George Eliot's _Middlemarch_, a copy of _Wisden_, a box of tissues, a watch, sunglasses, and in the drawer below, boxes of painkillers and an almost empty half bottle of whisky. Ruth frowned. Removing a strip of Solpadol and one of ibuprofen, she returned downstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Last chapter. Need to get back to the other fic! Hope you enjoy..**

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Harry eyed the glass of water. 'Bit weak, is it not?'

'Harry, I'm not spending my evening playing Florence Nightingale and then killing you off with a cocktail of booze and pills!'

At that point the doorbell rang, forestalling any argument. He eased his wallet out of his back pocket and handed it to her. 'That's probably the food. D'you mind?' As Ruth went out to the hall he downed a couple of Solpadol and tentatively massaged his knee, as if expecting an instant improvement. He heard the front door close once more and Ruth return to the kitchen, muttering darkly about his having ordered enough to feed the whole of Five, Six, and half of Whitehall.

Rather than the tray laden with plates of food that he was expecting, she re-appeared with a knotted, balled up tea towel. At his look of puzzlement she opened it up, revealing icecubes in a sandwich bag. 'No peas,' she explained. 'Okay, you'll need to take your trousers off.' Pause. 'Do you...do you need a hand?'

For a brief moment Harry wondered what on earth the pills were that Ruth had given him, and could he get them on repeat prescription, then he glanced up at her and concluded that if it were a hallucination, she probably wouldn't look so mortified. He considered his underwear. Boxers would have been okay, but his trunks left nothing to the imagination and the last thing he wanted was for Ruth to take one look at him and bolt, leaving him holding a tea towel of melting ice cubes while his second dinner of the evening tantalised him from the distant reaches of the kitchen.

His fingers suddenly clumsy, he undid his trousers and, grimacing, edged them down over his hips. 'Perhaps you could pull now?' he suggested. He'd meant for her to take the bottom of the legs but she reached for the waistband, and he hardly dared breathe as her fingers brushed his thighs. Mistaking his tensing for pain, Ruth slowed right down, as if she were guiding a wire loop round a serpentine length of wire that would buzz at the slightest contact. As she eased the trousers over his feet he exhaled a lungful of air. Her eyes flicked up to his. 'Sorry. Shall...shall I get you a towel or something? So you're a bit less...'

'Yes, if you like, Ruth.' Leaning forward he inspected his knee. It was red and swollen, promising spectacular bruising. 'Are you sure it's not broken?'

Ruth, busy wondering if it was so terrible if she didn't bother about the towel, took a moment to reply. 'Um, yes, it'll be fine. Here.' She handed him the bundle of ice, which he gingerly laid in place. 'I'll just...I'll just dish up. A bit of everything, is it?'

Harry grinned.

Both ravenous, they ate in silence, Ruth rather impressed by Harry's dexterity with chopsticks. As she passed him the tub of rice, something made her ask, 'The photo...above your bed. Is that you?'

He blinked. 'Er, yes.' He glanced down at his still-exposed chest. 'Difficult to believe, I know. Archie took that, Archie Hollingshead, an old colleague at Five. Catherine was just a couple of days old.'

The name meant nothing to Ruth. 'Well, he was wasted at Five. He should've been a photographer. It's beautiful.'

For the second time that evening they were interrupted by the doorbell. This time, Harry offered no explanation, and so Ruth looked rather more astonished than Alec when she found him standing on the doorstep clutching a pair of crutches.

'What on earth...?'

'Express delivery for Sir Harry. And you can tell him the other matter is...dealt with.'

'How...when...what other matter?'

'Do you need a hand at all? Getting him upstairs or anything?'

'No, if he can't manage with these he can bloody well bumshuffle. Alec, what other matter?'

He winked. 'Night, toots. See you tomorrow.'

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'Harry?'

'Mm?'

She held up the crutches.

'Oh, great. I just hope he didn't mug someone for them.'

'How..?'

'I phoned him while you were upstairs checking out my taste in bubble bath.'

'Right. I wouldn't say Dead Sea Salts really counts as bubble bath. Harry, he said that the other matter is dealt with. What other matter?'

'Oh. Let's just say that half an hour of surveillance footage from earlier this evening no longer exists.'

'Oh god. I completely forgot about them...poor Dolby, I bet he'd've loved to have seen photos of you running half naked through central London.'

'And getting a piggy back ride from some strapping rasta. Mmm. Oh, Ruth, stop laughing, it's not funny. It's not...bloody funny.' All he could do was watch, entranced, bemused, and not a little sad, as he realised that this was the first time he had ever seen Ruth Evershed laugh til she cried.

The combination of the crutches and the painkillers made him slightly more mobile, and he unsteadily got to his feet. The sight of him upright and wincing as he put weight on his cut foot sobered her up. Palming the tears off her cheeks she moved towards him. 'Harry, you should keep off your feet unless you really have to. You don't want to...'

'Stay.'

The blue eyes widened.

'I don't mean sleep with me, although I want that, you know I do...'

'Harry...'

'It's just that it's late and the spare room's all done up. I don't know if you inspected it or not...'

'Harry...'

'But it's quite nice, well, I think so, for what that's worth. And I'm told the bed's comfy, though don't worry, even with these things I don't think I'll be in any fit state to creep along the landing to test out that hypothesis...'

'Harry, will you...'

'...let alone re-enact the Kama Sutra. I promise if you say yes I won't read anything into it, it's just that...well, I know it sounds daft but I just don't want to be the only living, breathing being in this house tonight, Ruth. I want...'

He was stopped, mid-sentence, by her index finger resting lightly on his lips. 'Wh..?'

And she smiled that dimply smile that could make him promise her the moon, the stars, and every galaxy from here to infinity.

'Yes.'

FIN


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